The Little People
by Writers That are Fun
Summary: (SYOC) In Republic City, there's guild called The Little People; they strived to help those in need. But good intentions bring unwanted attention... especially in a place where things just hit the fan and the whole world seemed insane. Currently Accepting OCs.
1. Episode 0

THE

LITTLE PEOPLE

 **-Episode 0-**

Camille Khan

* * *

 **September 13th, X826**

Camille Khan, a normal girl. Nothing particularly special. Just brown skinned, fashionably put-together and tall enough to be mistaken for a sixteen-year old. She kept her hair underneath a bright blue turban; the colour, alone, would've sent her back to jail. Though the word 'jail' unconsciously made her hand to rub against the side of her neck as it began to tighten slightly. Slowly the tension ebbed away into obscurity as she reminded herself where she was: a ship bound for Republic City down south of Pengrande Kingdom.

What lead her to this place started out with her name. 'Camille' was a commonly used by servant girls in the Desierto Imperium. Her grandmother was named 'Camille' while her best-friend also bore the same name. To differentiate one 'Camille' from another, they refer to one from the other by last name. Unfortunately Khan, is too, was a common like grains of sands in the desert; luckily her best-friend happened to be 'Azouz'.

"But I'm more of an Adele," she claimed. "Camille is a nice way to say 'servant-girl'"

"Although 'Adele' is a nice way to say 'scandal', don't you think?" Camille retorted.

Her friend only shrugged in response.

 _If only I can convinced her to choose a different name, like Inez or Lilou. Then again...I would not be here. My life would be stuck in a cycle of dirty floors and wrinkled sheets. Perhaps a turbulent marriage with a cane._

Eyes closed, Camille tucked those thoughts deep within her brain. Relaxed, she continued to observe—a state of being as her ears picked apart voices amidst the excitement and chatter of her fellow migrants. From loud baritoned voices of her fellow Diserto peasants to secluded promises between lovers in hushed whispers. Accents and melodies melded and sank into her brain like music from a grand orchestra.

"Mama! Mama! Look, a giant lady!"

Afar on the horizon, the statue of Lady Hope stood tall and proud. In her left hand, she wielded a long sceptre; her right held a torch high in the sky. She gazed across the harbour toward the horizon with a religious intent to protect. Republic city equally stood tall and proud as the sunlight slowly creeps up the skyline. Slowly awakening the city from a still-like-slumber; Camille felt time has just started.

* * *

-I-

* * *

Hundreds of migrants were crammed into the immigration office; colliding, squirming, overtaking one-another's voices for space to move. "A controlled chaos", Camille thought. She stood right in the epicentre of the small room. Pinball-ing her path towards the line of cubicles that stood at the very-far end, her petite-stature allowed her to slip underneath tallest of men and glide past widest of women with ballerina precision. Sometimes a loose piece of fabric from her over layered attire would snag underneath a foot or upturned nail—forever lost as she abandon the garment without second thought.

The scarf around her neck. Her shawl. The sarong and silk skirt. Her head scarf clipped onto something—she unwrapped that as well. Something akin to a knight peeling of his armour; Camille was vulnerable and without pride. But she kept her head still up high as flowing locks of dark-brown framed her slender face. She approached the cubicles with a simple cotton dress, woven sandals and small leather satchel that had seen better days in its lifetime.

"Papers please," the office spoke.

Without a word, she unceremoniously dumped her documents onto his desk with a heavy, dull thud.

The officer stared at her.

She stared back.

"It's a free city, isn't it?" she retorted.

He simply took her papers. Tidied them up. Scanned and stamped after a short period of time.

* * *

-II-

* * *

Skyscrapers pierced the sky, or so it seem.

From down below the skyline, dwarfed underneath shadows of buildings; Camille sat on a bench with a tourist map in hand. Spread out in such manner within her grasp, one could mistaken her a character ripped straight out a badly written comedy. It out-measured the capacity her arms could stretch, but she managed to study enough detail from a glance to know where she was. The Loop.

 _Named after the subway line (a first of its kind) deep within the earth, the train would travel in a loop for a span of an hour. Benefitting commuters dared to travel during weekday rush-hours...although be warned; prices do hike-up to curb demand._

"I wouldn't bother with the subways-still a work in progress."

Beside her was a man. A typical urbanite. From head to toe, his wardrobe would buy a year's worth of bread back home. From the over-sized white shirt that draped him like a lamp, to his black skinny pants and pointed black shoes. He wore a weathered denim jacket and retro looking glasses that made his eyes cartoonish-ly big. On top of his head was a black man bun with shaved sides; a full-grown beard and noticed his nose was slightly crooked. In some sense, he looked handsome in terms of slenderness. Camille preferred men with more meat and hair though.

"Camille Khan, I presume?" He asked.

"Depends who's asking." She replied.

The man shrugged and took out a black stick from his pocket.

"The map is a dead give away, if I had to be brutally honest. Also 'Peasant-chic' isn't due out till next season."

He twisted stick and slipped in his mouth. After a few seconds of silence, the stick slipped into his fingers and vapour poured out.

"Zozo sends her regards...that's why I'm here. The name is Rat," he introduced. "My real name, however, is just boring."

"Why call yourself 'Rat' then? seems odd for a man who is well dressed."

From the corner of his eyes, he gave her a crooked smile. "The name came from Zozo; an inside joke, I suppose. Give enough time for us to know each other, I'll tell you the story."

"Then she agreed?" Camille asked.

"Conditionally, I have to add." Rat spoke. "Be in her guild for a few months, she'll give what you had asked."

* * *

 **-Fin-**

* * *

 **Author's** **Note**

* * *

 **Cat:** Project One of Two, it seemed fitting to end this story at a cliff-hanger. Although I give no apologies to the shortness of this chapter; it's simply a taster of the project's tone.

So anyways this is indeed as SYOC Fairy Tail fanfiction and take's place in a nation called Republic City (not very original, we know). The story is about a newly formed guild called The Little People run by Zozo Letissier. Excluding Camille and Rat, there are currently twelve mages in the guild; so we are hopping to accept twelve characters. Although don't worry, there are three other established guilds: The Kings of 99th Street, Renegades and Mari's Gold.

The application form would be in the profile shortly after this chapter is published. This would include a bit of back history of Republic City, Terms and Conditions and what the story needs.

Hopeful this project would stir some interest and get to receive interesting characters.

 **-End-**


	2. Episode 1: Act One: Her name is Zozo

THE

LITTLE PEOPLE

 **-Episode 1-**

 **Act One**

Her Name is Zozo

* * *

The walk was nothing short of a journey. No sense of direction, the two of them kept on going. Camille followed Rat with a single thought in her head: _Am I a sheep_ _?_ They walked through cross-road and down sidewalks; odd parks dotted around midtown and a back-door entry of a bodega. He took here, there and everywhere that was humanly possible. She asked, "Where are we going?" Only to be answered back in a long-flat silence as the two carried on their walk without a care in the world.

Until he stopped and pointed a finger up a sign. 'Meat Quarter.'

The 'Meat-Quater' district was located south-west of The Loop. It consisted of thirty-six, low-rise buildings crammed into three-medium sized grids. All of them laced with wrought-iron platforms used for fire-emegergencies, but their current use is more ornamental rather than practical— "Everyone loves a wrought iron," said Rat. He raised one hand dramatically in the air and surveyed the buildings with one graceful sweep. Camille saw buildings painted in mint-greens, retro-oranges, creams, pastel blues or exposed brick. Small trees caged neatly within equally small fences. City cars conga-lined in their parking space and artisanal boutiques labelled with pseudo-intellectualism names like "Meat Cute" or "Nice to Meat You."

"Are puns needed for a shop?" Camille asked.

"Do shops need a pun?" retort Rat.

They stood outside a small, simple looking shop. Above, the sign said "TRASH".

"My shop." he introduced, "Also your current hang out."

Without a word, Rat opened the door for her.

* * *

 **-I-**

* * *

White walls; white floor; white furniture— the shop reminded her of an oversized doll's house. From the flood of natural light poured out a large-pane window to the faux-industial lights that hang dangerously high in the ceiling. Tables, chairs and mannequins were staged meticulously as a moment perpetually froze. Camille felt waves of disturbance brushed against her skin as they waded through the silence and up a flight of stairs obscured from plain view. Instinctively, she gazed back to the shop and felt the stillness slowly take shape.

 _Somehow, it is quiet disturbing the silence can be in a well tidied shop._

"So is the inside of a coffin," Rat spoke from up top the stairs. "The more you stare, the more they stare back; it doesn't do them any justice since they were designed for that."

Naturally she looked back and saw nothing had change.

 _Everything is where it was. Wait, that is a rhetoric._

She dwelled deeply into the matter and realised something was off.

A lone manequin stared at her. It wasn't a trick of perception nor a coincidence of direction. Whereas it's body kept modelled the dress in demonstrational-flair, her blank face and long-lashes for eyes deliberated faced her. The mannequin lacked both humanistic and surrealist concept, instead it became a force of 'intent'.

"There's an old saying eyes are window to the soul..." a voice spoke. "Intense, but familiar at least. For one to lack no windows to the soul creates uncertainty."

It was sultry and melodic; easily melted away all the tension in one feel-swoop.

Behind her was a woman. Tall and excessively feminine. Neither young or old; her beauty reminded Camille of statues chiseled by consciously-delicate hands.

"It's nice we can finally meet, Camille Khan." she greeted.

"Zozo Latissier?" Camille asked.

"The only one."

* * *

 **-II-**

* * *

There was something about Zozo that made Camille terribly self-conscious. Not to the fact that Zozo could be mistaken for a pagan goddess or her hair was enviably lush. When up close in person, Zozo dwarfed her to a vast degree.

 _'I feel like a child...'_ Camille thought.

She planted her back against the chair, tilted her chin up and crossed her legs as Rat poured black tea into three-slender cups.

"Presumably you're a fan of cha?" Zozo asked.

"We drink it like water." Camille replied back.

"Sounds like an obligation," Rat added.

"Diserto _is_ the biggest exporter of black tea, after all." Zozo concluded.

* * *

 **-III-**

* * *

The upper levels of 'TRASH' oversaw the shop floor. It was compact, but tastefully decorated. Designed and laid-out as one had nonchalantly decided by their whim to plop a hang-out here. The furniture was a combination of mismatched chairs, weathered sofas, metal tables and oriental-carpets that eschewed linear uniformity. A wall-to-wall shelf occupied one-side of the room; dotted with bottles of alcohol in all sorts of sizes and shapes. Some of them had labels, some remained anonymous; contents ranged from the familiar, empty or absurdly bright-green.

"I told Camille about her conditions," Rat spoke.

Zozo looked at him, smiled and sipped her tea.

"It seems to be fair; compensation is inevitable." Camille commented. "Although are you sure?"

"If I wasn't, you'll still be scrubbing a large number of floors." Zozo spoke. "The information wasn't cheap and ethically sourced."

The three of them sat in silence. Sounds of life outside permeated into the room. Steam wafted from tea cups, Camille asked "What did you get?"

Zozo leaned back, laced her fingers and looked at Camille straight into the face.

"In eight months time, they will come here." she explained. "Intentions unknown, but I heard they brought some exclusive property outside the city."

"But I feel you have no plan to deal with them." Camille asked.

"I'm woman, not a miracle worker. I can wave my hand and magic appear...but your kind of situation exceeds what I'm capable of."

Camille remained silent and inwardly sighed to herself. "Then what is the point if you are not going to help me?"

"I did help: I gave you a place, time and direction," Zozo spoke. "You may have motivation, but lack a driving force."

Camille balled her hand into a fist as Zozo continued to talk.

"Why should I join you then?"

Zozo stood up and leaned across the table. Her fingers rested under Camille's chin; her nails were like knife's edge.

"I need help, is that too much to ask? I expect a returned interest when somebody asks for my charity. There are many ways I can do to you, Camille Khan. But it would do the world no justice; you're too stubborn. I could throw you off a building, yet still you would continue to walk. Chop off your legs, you'll dance on your hands. Back home, you feel entitled to be treated better because you had worked since the day you were born. Here, in my home though, you don't deserve anything at all."

Her words were aggressive, but equally nulled by the soothing tone of her voice. It wasn't a threat—more of a lecture.

"Are you trying to show a revelation?" Camille asked.

Zozo seemed smug and and patted her cheeks with three _Pat. Pat. Pat._

"What she's saying..." Rat interject. "The Little People relies on co-operation. Scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. We help the community, but in return expect help as well. Cash is nice, but favors are king. Our little group is not a guild— the word 'guild' is very old fashioned; I just hate it—but merely a physical-extension of our philosophy"

Camille looked at Rat, than back to Zozo.

"Is it like this with everyone who personally asked for your help?" she asked.

"Only the very special ones." Zozo replied. "So, where do you stand?"

Camille thought about it. Wondered how did she end up in this position.

 _One day, I'll get them and make them feel all my frustrations._

"I'm in." She finally replied.

"Good."

* * *

 **-Fin-**

* * *

Author's Note

* * *

Cat: I prefer to focus on short chapters as it's easier to get my ideas down coherently and highlights the quality of my writing style. Anyways this chapter establishes location of the guild and its enigmatic leader. So no apologies to the shortness of the chapter, but we are sorry if you waited for a long time. Currently there two spots taken...they'll be revealed in the next chapter.


End file.
